“Oh, ye of little faith!” I prayed,
but the apparition startled me,
translucent, in a long white robe,
standing behind the ER nurse
as she guided the IV needle
into my mother’s arm.
Angel or ghost, small of stature,
perhaps a cherub or a child?

Coward that I am, I fled the room
as if pursued by the ‘Hounds of Hades’,
then mocked my fear with an uncertain chuckle.
I had prayed for that nurse to hit her mark,
and voila, she had. No easy task
when the patient’s veins had collapsed.
Yet, like Peter, I asked for
divine intervention, then doubted.

But, now as I walk the empty
hallways in the middle of the night,
I feel their ghostly presence,
these angels of the night
who glide through this place of life
and death, ready to assist these human
‘angels of mercy’ as they wage their
battles to hold onto life and breath.